


The Lengths (You'd Go To)

by charm point (arthur_pendragon)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Angst, Fake Relationship, Humour, Kabaji cameo, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12992958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/pseuds/charm%20point
Summary: Shishido is coerced by the team to woo Atobe until Nationals are over, or risk having to chop off the long, beautiful hair that he grew out again after middle school. Having no choice but to go ahead with it, he finds himself facing the unenviable task of breaking Atobe’s heart, with his own sure to shatter along the way.





	The Lengths (You'd Go To)

Ryou couldn’t breathe. His head was ensconced in damp heat, and he really couldn’t breathe and there was something brushing against his mouth that just brought forth feelings of utter _disgust_ in him —

His eyes shot open. Oh. It was just his long-as-fuck hair matted on his face. He swept it away from his face, rolling onto his other side and blearily checking the time on his phone. It was nearing the time he usually woke up, anyway. Might as well stay awake. Feeling much more like an old man than usual, he sat up, groaning and huffing at his aching body, the result of a particularly gruelling training exercise the evening before.

Wait.

There'd been an additional notification on his screen, apart from the usual alarm. Ryou picked up his phone again. It was a text from Gakuto, sent a little before Ryou woke up and apparently addressed to the entire team. _Emergency meeting, everyone, locker room, 8 am._ Damn. It was supposed to be their day off! What the fuck. And why was Gakuto texting them to meet up? Wasn’t it usually Yuushi, the fucking vice-captain (yeah, things had changed since middle school), who handled these kinds of things?

Well, whatever. Ryou pushed himself out of bed and grabbed his hairbrush, anticipating an arduous battle with his sweaty hair before he could get dressed and be on his way to this “emergency meeting.” It had grown extensively since he’d resolved to not get it cut in his three years of high school, and while short hair had had its perks (no daily suffocation, for one), it was extremely satisfying to run the hairbrush through tangle-free locks — just like before.

Ryou tied his hair up into his usual ponytail, washed up, brushed his teeth like a good boy, and left his house after saying goodbye to his mother. God, his body was still throbbing with pain. Gakuto had better have a good reason for this shit.

He reached Hyōtei in fifteen minutes, and then the locker room in ten. Opening the door without knocking, he announced, “Gakuto, I’m here, and also, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, calling us all out on a holiday?”

Gakuto replied, “One, you’re late. Two, this is pretty fucking important and Yuushi and I didn’t want Atobe to find out about this meeting so we had to hold it on a day he wouldn’t normally come to school — unless he’s skydiving here right now, but I don’t think so.”

The people in the locker room stirred slightly. Jirou kept snoring. Choutarou smiled brightly at his doubles partner and shuffled aside to make room for him, pushing up against Wakashi in the process — who collided with Kabaji, who got up and sat next to Yuushi on the opposite bench.

“Why’s he not here, though?” Ryou asked, taking a seat beside Choutarou on the benches in front of the lockers. Gakuto peered at him. “Are you still asleep? Obviously because this emergency meeting is _about him_. Stop wasting time and just listen.”

Ryou rolled his eyes, but only a little.

“All right, now that we’re all _finally_ here, I would like to tell you of a very important issue that has been plaguing our Hyōtei tennis team society for weeks now. Kabaji, I called you here because you know Atobe better than anyone else here, but you mustn’t go blabbing to him, all right?”

“Usu.”

“As you know,” Yuushi said, taking over, “Atobe’s been a little weird these past few days.”

“Understatement,” Wakashi muttered under his breath. And what an understatement it was. Atobe — _Atobe!_ — had been irate and tetchy for at least two months, the reason for which no one had been able to discern yet. It was seriously damaging team morale and endangering the close(-ish) bond everyone had with their captain.

“The point is! The point is, we need to fix this. Fast. Or else we’re done for as a team, and might as well kiss our Nationals trophy goodbye forever.” The previous year’s trophy winked at them from its place of honour on the wall — or it would have, had it not been in their coach’s office winking at him instead.

“No shit, senpai,” came another frustrated mumble from the ostensible baby of the group. Gakuto immediately jumped up and caught him in a headlock. “Such insolence, you brat!”

Yuushi pulled Gakuto off Wakashi, continuing, “Kabaji, we really need your help here. What do you think’s the matter with Atobe?”

“Usu.”

“How come you don’t know?”

“Usu.”

“Are you fucking serious.”

“Usu.”

“Uh, could you tell us anything that might have changed in his life recently?”

“Usu.”

“No way! _His parents are marrying him off?_ ”

“Usu.”

“I mean, Kabaji, you know that that could very well be the reason he’s been blowing his top every chance he gets, right?”

“Usu.”

“I can’t believe you’re calling _me_ stupid!”

“Usu.”

“Stop bullying Kabaji. He didn’t say stupid; he said dimwit and it’s true. Let’s get back to the discussion.” Yuushi turned to the team again.

“Okay, so, thanks to a very detailed description from Kabaji, we now know that it’s Atobe’s creepy and probably illegal impending marriage that has been causing us to go through hell on a daily basis.”

Silence.

“Any solutions?”

Wakashi put a two-finger gun under his chin, mimicking cocking the hammer with his thumb. Dark boy, Ryou thought.

“Uh, don’t let him get married?” he spoke out loud.

“Lol, good one. Hello, Mrs Atobe, we were wondering if your son could maybe _not_ marry whoever you’re making him marry? You see, the fact that he _is_ going to get married is throwing a spanner in all our works and we would like very much to not faint of exhaustion and disband before the all-important national-level tennis tournament that your son is deeply interested in winning.”

Ryou couldn’t believe he just heard Gakuto say “lol” out loud. His day had taken a very strange turn in just fifteen minutes.

“Now over to the people with grasps on reality and what is and isn’t possible in this infernal world we live in; Choutarou, what’s good?”

“We could distract him,” Choutarou offered. “If he isn’t thinking about his wedding during practice, then he isn’t taking his anger out on us for it.”

“Our beautiful Ootori comes to the rescue,” Yuushi crowed happily, ignoring Wakashi's mutter of “it was pretty obvious though” and shaking Choutarou’s hand. Ryou squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Yuushi was still Mad-Hattering his way through the proceedings.

“How do we distract him? Wakashi. Answer this for extra credit.”

Wakashi stared straight into the eyes of the devil and said, “We both know I’m getting nothing out of this so I’m not answering the question.”

“Okay, someone get him out of here.”

“We just need to make him stop thinking about his wedding, right? So we just replace that unknown woman with someone he’d actually be okay with thinking about marrying,” Wakashi said hastily, revealing himself to be immersed in this drama after all. “You know, a girlfriend. Or boyfriend.”

The team released a collective sigh. Jirou stirred awake.

“How ethical is it to get someone else who isn’t even invested in this entire thing to date Atobe until the Nationals?” he asked, apparently able to overhear conversations while fast asleep.

“Completely out of the question, don’t be a dick, Jirou.” Ryou put in.

“So, Shishido-san wants someone from this team to date Atobe-buchou?” Choutarou asked, confused.

There was deadly silence. A pin dropped and everyone heard it.

“Uh… I don’t know.” Never be moral again or you get fucked over by Choutarou’s weird logic, Ryou decided. “I mean, if we're going to distract him for the purposes of our practice, isn’t it better to have that person _be_ someone from the practice?” How do you go about rationalising this?

“Oh, that makes sense, actually.” Jirou’s words. Ryou shot him a look.

“So… who takes the plunge?”

Deadly silence again.

“The right question isn’t really _who wants to kiss the captain_ ,” Ryou said, reluctantly taking charge. “Just hold a lottery and the winner, in this case also the loser, starts getting Atobe’s attention.”

“Sorry, I’m a dimwit, how about you tell me how we’re going to do that right now?” Gakuto asked.

Ryou thought. And thought and thought —

“Why don’t _you_ do it?” Wakashi butted in.

“Shut the fuck _up_ , second-year!” Ryou exclaimed. “Why me?”

“You clearly have a good grasp on this situation! You’d know how to do it better than anyone here! And _also_ you’ve been in love with him since, I don’t know, forever!”

“What the fuck!”

“We’ve all seen you mooning over him!”

“NO!”

So his attraction to his captain hadn’t been a secret like Ryou’d thought. Well, as long as Atobe remained blissfully oblivious. He sighed. Tried to hide behind Choutarou. Failed.

“Yes, you!” Yuushi said, as if a bulb had lit up inside his head. “Okay, you know what, if you do this, I can make you Singles 2.”

“Uh, no, I'm good with Choutarou, thanks.”

“How about guaranteed Doubles 1 for the Nationals, then? Gakuto and I’ll happily go for Doubles 2.”

That actually gave Ryou pause. He glanced at Choutarou. Happier puppy-dog eyes had never been made before. He sighed. “And if I still say no?”

“I’ll — I mean Yuushi’ll fucking kick you off the team and make you cut your stupid hair again if you try to get back on it,” Gakuto threatened.

“You guys are strong-arming me into doing this! What the fuck!”

“Just do it, senpai,” Wakashi said. “There’s no guarantee that you’ll be in a relationship with him, you just have to distract him! And if you don’t want to date him, which I can’t see happening because you have the hots for him, you can always break up with him after the Nationals are over in February, you don’t have to actually marry him. You won’t even have to deal with the consequences of his broken heart, because you’ll graduate and go off to college.”

_What! A! Dark! Boy!_

“Actually, I think a better solution would be to just leave him alone, guys.” Last-ditch effort.

“Done deal, then. You have to start tomorrow, okay?”

Ryou didn’t bother replying, getting up and leaving the locker room and his teammates behind in a huff of frustration.

* * *

The next morning, Ryou, who had found it very hard to sleep owing to his guilty conscience, got out of bed, took a nice shower, got dressed and ready for school, sat down in front of his brother and asked him how to flirt.

“Are you kidding me right now.”

“No.”

“The one time you come to me for advice and it’s about this.”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?”

“Captain.” Ryou ignored the incredulous expression on his brother’s face and calmly put a piece of toast in his mouth.

“What _for_?”

“Nefarious purposes.”

An audible sigh. “I can’t help you if it’s him.”

“It’s all right, I don't think anyone knows how to flirt with him. Most people just melt when he looks at them.”

At morning practice, Ryou braced himself for any angry tirade he might be at the receiving end of, and walked over to Atobe. He should probably start calling him Keigo in his head. “Hey, Atobe.”

Atobe, who had been overseeing practice like a rigid statue with his arms crossed, turned to him. “What do you want,” he asked flatly, expression thunderous. Ryou resisted his body’s involuntary shudder.

“Nah, nothing, really. Just wanted to say good morning.”  
“Good morning, then.”

“Yeah.”

Ryou didn’t budge.

“What else can I do for you?” asked Keigo, less angry, more confused now.

“Um, no, I just. I don’t have anyone to play against right now, and I know you’re busy observing all of us so you can’t be with me right now” — Ryou blushed in spite of himself, even though it was the most harmless innuendo — “so I was just going to stand here next to you.”

Keigo… did not visibly soften. “There’s a machine at the far end of Court D. You can practise your returns there. You may go now.”

Failure.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Thanks.” Ryou turned to go.

“Thanks?”

Ryou hurriedly turned around again, shuffling a little closer to Keigo than before. He smelled really nice. And also the flirting thing, trying to make himself more appealing to his captain.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Usually the most polite words you say to me are calling me a pigheaded loser.”

Ryou laughed. “Yeah, well, what can I say? You _are_ one.”

Keigo offered him a small smile and turned his head away, back to the other players’ matches, clearly dismissing Ryou. He didn’t give laps to anyone for the rest of the practice.

School was a little bit better — Ryou flouted class seating plans and sat next to Keigo, trying to make small conversation. Keigo didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary.

During afternoon practice, he even managed to get his hand onto Keigo’s shoulder (ah hah haha Atobe, that was a good one, let me put my arm around you and leave it there for a few seconds while I lean in close to you to press home how funny I think you are) and then walk away before Keigo could get the chance to ask him to explain his unusual behaviour.

Keigo always looked… startled, was the word, when Ryou touched him. But he stopped almost-imperceptibly jerking away after a week of Ryou’s persistent touchy-feely behaviour.

Ryou did not like having to do this. He really hated having to do this. Atobe Keigo had been his tennis captain and fast friend for six years and Ryou respected and admired him greatly, not to mention had been in love with him for years now. To dupe him like this was, for Ryou, akin to… the worst thing he could do to someone. But did he have a choice? If Keigo continued on the same warpath against his team, they were definitely going to crash and burn in the Nationals.

A few weeks later, he started taking his shirt off around Keigo more often. Not that he had any confidence in his own body, mind you. No, sir, it was the mere fact that Yuushi kept sidling up to him at school and asking in his suddenly-menacing Kansai dialect, “Are you really trying, Ryou? Do you want to win Nationals again? You have the chance to, quite literally, take one for the team, you know.”

Yes, so, Ryou kept trying to seduce Keigo in his own guileless way. The first time it worked was in the locker room — while they were all getting ready for practice, Ryou grabbed his tennis clothes, walked over to Keigo, and put them down on the bench beside him. Keigo shot him a glance — and then several more as Ryou began the ingenuous unbuttoning of his shirt.

“How was your day, Ahobe?” Ryou asked Keigo, looking him fully in the eye. He pulled his shirt off. Keigo looked thoroughly befuddled, as if he had no idea what was happening to him. _Keigo!_ This would have been priceless if somewhere inside Ryou’s head a miniature version of himself hadn’t been beating himself up.

“Quite well,” Keigo answered carefully, looking at Ryou’s chest and then his abs. He then turned away before his eyes dropped lower. Ryou’s stomach dropped. For what, he didn’t know.

Ryou didn’t dare take his trousers off at the same time, so he just said, “Mine was a nightmare.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Well, it was so hot today!”

September. He could get away with saying that. Barely. Also, that was perhaps the most obvious line in the book.

“Really? I hadn’t really noticed.” Keigo turned back to him, genuinely interested in the weather conversation. What a dork.

“Yeah, I’m so sweaty, look!” Ryou grabbed Keigo’s hand (which had been earlier engaged in tying the knot on Keigo’s shorts) and put it exactly where Keigo had been looking before dragging it up his sternum a little. Ryou’s skin sang at the contact. His fingers unconsciously loosened around Keigo’s wrist, as Keigo’s fingers came to rest on what, on a woman, would have been cleavage.

Keigo froze. So did the rest of the tennis team around them, but only because they were waiting with bated breath for his reaction.

“Copious amounts of perspiration, indeed, Ryou, but I would appreciate it if you would cease your practice of randomly putting my hand on your body.” Keigo extracted his hand from Ryou’s grip and serenely — it seemed — resumed his own changing.

“This was only the first time, though,” Ryou said, taking his trousers off with a deep breath.

This gave Keigo pause. “You mean to say you had intended for there to be more times?” The tone of his words was questioning, but Keigo had a slight smile on his face that he wasn’t directing at Ryou particularly.

Huh. He was _flirting._ Never having been at the receiving end of Keigo’s attentions, Ryou flushed. (He was the kind to flush with his whole body, so he quickly pulled his tennis uniform on lest Keigo noticed.)

“Why not?” he said casually, hooking his thumbs in the elastic of his shorts and tugging them down a bit (Keigo did not look, but he went red).

“Impropriety,” said Keigo. Everyone else in the room had finished changing and left the premises. Or perhaps Gakuto had shepherded them all out, but Ryou would never know.

“You look the other way for Gakuto and Yuushi,” Ryou reminded Keigo.

“Really, now,” Keigo said, stepping into Ryou’s space. “Are you implying I’m not a diligent, disciplined captain?” His eyes bore into Ryou’s. Ryou finally, with crystal clarity, understood what it was like to be a melting candle surrounded by an inferno.

“No,” Ryou answered, stepping closer in response, “I’m saying you could look the other way for us, too, I guess.” Hit yourself. Punch yourself. Die. He’s going to be heartbroken if he falls for you.

Keigo looked stunned, as if he’d never expected this bout of watery teasing to lead anywhere. Ryou held his gaze steady.

“Don’t let’s be late for practice,” Keigo said, and then he was gone.

* * *

 

Discouraged, Ryou moped for a few days. Keigo was avoiding him anyway. He sat far from Ryou in class, he didn’t look at Ryou when he barked out orders during practice, and generally ran if he found himself alone with Ryou anywhere, ever. This was _not_ like him! Keigo (…sigh, _Atobe_ ) was a smooth-talking, overconfident, narcissistic charmer who already had one strike against him for not behaving the way he ought to because of his ridiculous marriage. Now there were two, and Ryou did not want to know what kind of person Atobe would be once yet another bombshell shocked him out of his usual behaviour patterns.

Used once again to being alone, Ryou was surprised when Yuushi joined him on the roof of the school one day.

“Why aren't you with Gakuto?”

“We can survive without each other for one lunch period,” Yuushi said, sitting down cross-legged beside him. “So, we’ve all been seeing how Atobe’s been acting around you lately,” he continued.

“Does that mean you’ll all give me a pass and I don’t have to do this shit anymore?” Ryou interjected immediately.

“Hold on,” Yuushi said, holding his hands up, palms facing outward, as if he were surrendering. Ryou knew better. “You know he’s still the same at practice.”

“Yeah, but I tried. And I’m clearly not his type or something.”  
The disappointment almost physically hurt.

“All right, look, I get it. You won’t be able to get him back to who he was before his parents decided to act their status. I talked to the team, and we’d be okay with you getting him to tone his attitude down a bit. We’re all so done with the hundred needless laps every day.”

“He literally vanishes when he sees me, you know. Imagine how hard that’s gotta be for someone like him. I heard his fangirls talking about how they don’t notice him disappearing, so you _know_ he’s serious about avoiding me; he even sacrificed all the attention.”

Yuushi sighed. Ryou sighed.

“Let’s give it another week, and if he comes back to you before the week’s up, the bet’s still on.”

“What bet?! Don’t forget, you fucking forced me to do this!”

“ _And_ if he doesn’t, well… we tried.”

“And I get to keep my hair?”

“You get to keep your hair. And your place on the team, but you seem more concerned about the hair.”

Ryou huffed. “I really fucking hate you, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Have fun playing the waiting game.”

Ryou wondered if Yuushi and Gakuto and everyone else had secretly sold their soul to the devil last year in exchange for the Nationals win or something.

Day 1.

Atobe didn’t look at him as they passed each other in the hallway. Ryou wondered if he was in some American teen drama, and when, if ever, the director would call ‘cut’. Practice was uneventful, but the team had to run fifty extra laps when Ryou made the mistake of laughing too hard with Jirou about something and _wrapping his arm around Jirou’s waist_.

Day 2.

Ryou started unbuttoning his trousers in the locker room without any conscious thought as to the effect it would/wouldn’t have on Atobe. Said man took off like the roadrunner from the cartoons.

Day 3.

Ryou undid his ponytail in class, letting his mane fall free, lush, and gorgeous; Atobe tripped on his way back to his seat. Ryou most definitely did _not_ want to talk about it.

Day 4.

Atobe… made the official announcement of his soon-to-be betrothal to the girl about whom Kabaji had told the team. Turns out it’s not illegal to promise your child to some family and wait until both parties are adults to treat them like they have no say in the matter and marry them off. It was almost like some arranged-marriage fanfiction come to life.

Ryou would resolutely not listen to the name and sympathise with the poor girl who was surely being forced into this loveless marriage, too. He was at the front of the 100-strong club crowd that listened and despaired, but Atobe strangely did not meet his gaze, though he made sure to meet everyone else’s.

Day 5.

Ryou decided to cheat and take matters into his own hands for the sake of his heart, fuck the bet. He wondered (for a second before his self-preservation tendencies tamped the thoughts down) about what it said about him and Atobe that he was willing to risk his lovely hair and a Doubles 1 spot.

He deliberately sat down beside Atobe after class while they were all packing up, and said, “Oi.”

Atobe looked at him. “What?”

“Listen, I’m really sorry about hitting on you the other day. Obviously it’s fucked up our friendship and also the team dynamics—” Joke's on you, Atobe, it was your inability to cope with a desperate, ineluctable situation that brought the team nearly to mutiny, but it can’t hurt to say it if it’ll make you fix it— “and I had no idea that you were going to get _married_ and everything, I’m sorry but I’d love if we could go back to the way things were before, you know, you started treating us like we were robots with boundless energy.”

Atobe didn’t say anything for a full thirty seconds. It doesn’t seem like much, you say? Only 15% of the duration of the average pop song? It fucking felt like infinity then and there.

“It’s not what you said, and did, Ryou,” Atobe murmured after those thirty seconds. “I suppose it was me expressing my frustration with my unwanted future.”

“Really?” Not even the most clueless person in the world could have missed the sarcasm in that one word.

Atobe shot him a look. Ryou hastened to amend his initial response.

“I mean, maybe you should've just… talked to your team, instead of taking it out on us? We’re your friends.”

One question. Why did none of the geniuses in the Hyōtei team come up with this solution before the dumb one they went with? Why’d everyone have to bully poor lovesick Ryou into ‘distracting’ Atobe? _Huh?_

“You’re right,” Atobe said, looking a little downcast. “I sincerely apologise for my uncharacteristic behaviour over the past couple of months.”

Ryou clapped Atobe’s shoulder. “See you in practice,” he said shortly, and made to leave, but:

“Ryou.”

Ryou whipped back around to Atobe shamefully fast.

“I could.”

“You could what?”

But Ryou already knew from the heated look in Atobe’s eyes. His heart started pounding loudly in his chest.

“I could look the other way — ”

Oh no. Ohh, no. Wrong time for Atobe to be the painfully brutally honest idiot he was before! Ryou interrupted:

“Don’t cheat on your wife before you’re even married.” As if that hadn’t been what Ryou’d been angling for in the first place.

“Ryou, I _want_ — ” Atobe’s voice broke. His hand reached out for Ryou’s jaw.

Ryou was a weak man, weak, weak man. And he knew this fact about himself, so he booked it before Atobe could say anything worse in front of the curious stares of their classmates.

* * *

 

Should he tell Atobe about the bet? Should he stay shut up?

If he were to stick to his _you should have been more forthright and communicative_ advice that he gave to Atobe, he ought to tell him, really… but he knew Atobe, and he knew Atobe would be deeply hurt and betrayed. Anyone not a sociopath would be. What if he did tell Atobe and Atobe retaliated by returning to his previous highly damaging, castigatory ways? See, Atobe was a gentleman at all times (okay, sometimes) and despite the rampant narcissism that everyone in the team had got used to over the years, he had a marvellous upbringing that enhanced his generous, genuine nature. However, the guy was still human, and still shaken. Ryou cared about Atobe and didn’t want to see him hurt.

And also because he didn’t want to miss the chance to snatch the final Nationals trophy, because that's what started this entire mess. Also his beautiful hair needed to stay the way it was. But most of all, because he loved Atobe and would rather die than cause him pain.

Perhaps he should just go ahead with the original plan and break up with Atobe (if they got together for a for-real-but-not-real-for-Ryou relationship) after Nationals.

Yeah. That’d be... _optimal_.

* * *

 

At the end of practice that very same day, Ryou was changing back into his school uniform, deliberately slowly, hoping for Atobe to take the bait and stay back, too.

Take the bait he did.

The rest of the team filed out, saying their goodbyes and making plans to hang out, all too regardful of the people they were leaving behind.

“Ryou.”

Atobe’s voice was commanding as usual. Ryou finished dawdling in front of his locker and turned around.

“Yeah.”

“I wished to talk about this morning —”

“Oh, I —”

“Do allow me to finish —”

“Yeah but you’re going to want to hear me say this —”

“ _Ryou_.”

And Ryou shut up.

(As if he would really.)

“I-definitely-want-you-to-look-the-other-way,” Ryou said, stringing all the words together in one long, hastily spoken word before Atobe could get anything in. He was pretty sure he was blushing very, very hard. He was wringing his hands in nervousness and looking down in embarrassment — which turned out to be the wrong thing to do, because when he looked back up Atobe was right in front of him. Startled, he choked.

Atobe raised a hand and cupped Ryou’s jaw, like he’d begun to do in the morning. Ryou gulped.

“I would like very much to kiss you,” Atobe said softly. “May I?”

“Isn’t it way too soon though I mean we only just started dating wait we’re dating now right —”

“Ryou.”

And Ryou shut up for real this time.

“If you agree, we are indeed… dating, to use the colloquial term, and I understand you have your reservations about this. Don’t worry.” Atobe — Keigo again? — took his hand off Ryou's face, stepping back. “Shall we go now?”

“Uh, sure,” Ryou said. Keigo turned to leave. Something inside Ryou cracked as he sorely regretted everything that had just happened. Okay. This was happening. He was going to do this. Deep breath.

He grabbed Keigo by the hips, whirled him around, and planted one right on his face.

All right. It wasn’t as oversimple as that. (It was.)

Keigo responded almost immediately, bringing his hands up to frame Ryou’s face and kiss him back. It was an innocent kiss. No risqué behaviour. Ryou went weak and closed his eyes, leaning into it, but it was not to last.

Keigo pulled away, slightly red in the face (and lips). Ryou himself was slightly mindful of how tight his trousers were now.

They left the school grounds without another word, nudging hands and touching fingers on the way, and parted ways at the entrance (Ryou turned back like a lovestruck girl to watch Keigo get in his limousine).

Just what had he got himself into?

* * *

 

All Ryou could remember of the next couple of months was gruelling practice (Nationals was now upon them) and then long, deep kisses at random places in Tokyo afterwards with his captain. It was exceedingly weird to contemplate the speed with, and process by which he had progressed from teammate to friend to _this_. Keigo, the gentleman, had never taken things further than those selfsame innocent kisses and gentle handholding, but Ryou was finding it ever harder to not desperately cling to Keigo, as if some gushing fount of hitherto suppressed feelings for him had suddenly burst forth from the crevices of what he had believed was an unromantic heart — hence, those unforgettable heated kisses with the gasps, the parted lips, and the snug bodies.

TL;DR: No tonsil hockey yet. Yet. But lots of lack of space between bodies. Mmm yeah Shishido Ryou was totes DTF as long as it was Atobe Keigo.

* * *

 

The evening before Hyōtei’s quarterfinals match in the tournament, Ryou’s phone buzzed with a message from Gakuto.

_Just so you know, we’ve all seen you and Captain “secretly” kissing after we “leave," and it’s something none of us will be able to forget when we see you guys playing tomorrow._

He quickly tapped out a reply.

_Just so YOU know, we’ve all seen you 69-ing Yuushi on a handstand in the showers. Wonder what we’re going to do about that._

Ryou considered it a win, until his phone buzzed again. But it wasn’t a text from Gakuto (so the win stayed a win).

_I crave your kisses._

Ryou almost broke the sound barrier replying.

_Lame._

_I want to explore your mouth for hours until I’m drunk on the taste and my fingers are familiar with every strand of your long, beautiful hair. Is that better?_

_Nah. Try again._

_If you would permit it, I would leave you dizzy, sated, and short of breath._

Wow.

Woooooooow. Ryou’s heart started beating distressingly hard. Unsure if he wanted to carry this conversation on further, he used his usual evasive tactics and texted:

_Romantic. Wonder what your future wife would say if she found out._

Unsurprisingly, he immediately regretted the message. Even more so after he stopped receiving replies. He hesitantly sent another text after twenty minutes of silence.

_I’m sorry I said that. Let’s start over._

_No, it’s all right. I had kept in mind the fact that I would not simultaneously be able to carry on both relationships at the same time, and as a result had resolved to discuss things with you whenever the chance arose._

_What does that even mean?_

_It means we need to talk._

Ryou’s heart immediately plummeted.

* * *

 

Ryou really should have been sleeping and getting ample rest for the next day. Instead, he was dashing to the school at night because that’s where he first kissed Keigo, and because that’s where Keigo said they needed to talk.

Though the lights were all off, he found his captain standing to one side of the main courts.

“Hey,” he called, jogging over to Keigo, heart thudding in his ears.

Keigo met him halfway. Ryou impulsively kissed him, stepping into Keigo’s space, burying his fingers in his hair. Keigo wrapped his arms around him, kissing him back. So… he _wasn’t_ going to break up with Ryou? He would have avoided this if he were going to, right?

They spent a good ten minutes (a whole six hundred seconds!) immersed in each other before Ryou took his hands off Keigo's hair and Keigo’s roaming counterparts emerged from under Ryou’s jersey.

“I… uh, hello.” Ryou laughed a little, awkwardly.

“Hi, Ryou.” Keigo didn’t let go of Ryou. The closeness simultaneously unnerved and thrilled Ryou. At this point, he more or less admitted that he’d developed feelings for Keigo over the course of his deception of his captain. It was too late to turn back, and Ryou wasn’t sure he ever would. Unless. Y’know. The marriage made him.

“What… did you… call me here for?”

“No rush,” Keigo said, brushing his mouth against Ryou’s. “We can still do this for some time.”

Ryou’s heart stopped. Keigo seemed a little sad.

“What’s wrong?”

Keigo just kissed Ryou again, undoing Ryou’s ponytail. Ryou’s long hair swayed a little in the breeze, his scalp cooling. Not that he noticed anything except the lovely feeling of Keigo’s mouth covering his and his tongue slowly, torturously brushing against his own. He did away with the gap between his and Keigo’s bodies, pressing himself against Keigo until his captain was whimpering and sighing into his kisses.

“Keigo,” Ryou said out loud, probably for the first time in his life. “ _Keigo._ ” He pulled away. Immediately Keigo pulled him back into another searing kiss.

Something was _wrong!_

Ryou placed his hand on Keigo’s chest and pushed him away unwillingly.

“You’ve got to talk to me,” he said. Keigo sighed.

“I,” he began. “Ryou, it’s about the wedding.”

Back with the audible thudding of his heart in his ears. Ryou clenched his fists, preparing for the break-up. “Have you settled on a date?”

“What? No, I…” Keigo trailed off awkwardly, if Keigo could ever be awkward. “I was wondering what you would do if I were to talk to my parents about our relationship and persuade them to cancel the wedding…”

“That’s a really bad idea!” Ryou burst out almost immediately. “I don’t want you to do that at _all._ ”

“Why?” Keigo asked, bewildered. “I’m in love with you.” The simplicity with which he said it stunned Ryou.

Ryou wanted nothing more than to just kiss him again. Kissing Atobe Keigo was the most addictive thing in the world. Sue him. He didn’t choose to fall for the guy. He didn’t really choose any of this. But he soldiered on.

“Look,” he began, shoving his hands in his pockets, “even though we’re good together, and I mean, _really good_ , I don’t think you should fuck up your chances at the kind of life you’re going to get if you marry her.”

“Don’t go all self-sacrificial on me, Ryou —”

“No, I mean it! You should be with her! Let’s break up right now!”

The look of absolute bafflement on Keigo’s face morphed into dejection.

“You started this!” he implored. “You can’t do this sort of thing to someone, leading them on and then spurning them when things get serious.”

Ryou’s clenched fists hurt. They really hurt. Not as much as the pain of his heart cracking into tiny pieces.

“Look,” he repeated. “I only started flirting with you because —”

_Was he actually fucking going to say it?_

Yes, he fucking was. Anything to let Keigo not do something as drastic as cancel his wedding for something that started out as fake!

“Because?” Keigo asked, vulnerable.

“I — the team — you’ve been really angry and overworking us and the team was falling apart but we wanted to win Nationals so we — I — tried to keep your temper in check by distracting you from the wedding by using me and…” Ryou trailed off, knowing all hope was lost. There was no way he could tell Keigo that his feelings for him had emerged years before this situation even arose.

Keigo swallowed. His eyes grew shinier. He stepped back.

“You think carrying on a near-affair with you was a distraction, and didn’t add to my burden at all?”

Ryou didn’t think his heart beat for about five whole seconds. He was probably dead.

“All right, we’re finished,” Keigo said, looking away from Ryou. “I shall try not to do you the discourtesy of mistreating you purposely as a result of your deception, now or ever, but do forgive me if I cannot stomach the very thought of glancing your way for the next few weeks. Good luck tomorrow.”

Ryou’s eyes and nose started stinging, and it was not for a sneeze.

He turned and ran, and if a girly sob escaped him within earshot of a lonely-looking Atobe, well, fuck that shit.

* * *

 

Next morning was hell. Ryou didn’t know how he managed to get up and drag himself to the tournament spot. The last to arrive, he skulked over to the team, hiding himself behind Choutarou’s larger frame, avoiding looking at Atobe.

“Hi,” Choutarou said, immediately noticing Ryou’s arrival. “We’re Doubles 1.”

“Good,” Ryou said, nodding. “Who’s our first opponent?”

“Rikkai.”

“All right. Let’s crush them.”

“You might want to emerge from my shadow, I don’t think Captain will look at you anyway.”

“He told you guys!?”

“Yes, he apologised for the spartan practices first thing this morning. You weren’t supposed to tell him, you know,” Choutarou said, a note of disapproval in his voice. Bit rich coming from someone who’d essentially forced him to hurt their captain.

Ryou answered, ignoring his junior’s eyebrow raise, “I just. Didn’t want to keep him from his future.”

“I don’t know, maybe _you_ were his future?”

Ryou was just about to tell Choutarou to fuck off when — 

“I welcome any fruitful contributions to the group discussion, Ootori.” Atobe’s voice rang sharp in the winter air. Choutarou sprung to attention. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Don’t be late tomorrow, Shishido,” Atobe said, adding, “And you can stop cowering behind Ootori now.”

Ryou could only nod.

Marching into the quarterfinals, they won against Rikkai, but only because Atobe dragged his match on with Sanada (who was singles 1, replacing his captain who instead opted for Singles 2, owing to his health) and managed to outlast him. Somehow. Miraculously.

* * *

 

The next day, Ryou stumbled over nothing and sprained his ankle in his crucial semifinal match against Shitenhouji (funny how it was always the same teams and the same people competing every year) when he noticed Atobe wasn’t paying any attention to it. He lost the match for his team, and avoided looking in Atobe’s direction as he limped off the court. The on-site doctor said it was minor and that he should be able to play at full strength for the finals two days later, if they won Atobe’s match — which, of course, they did.

Atobe then invited (commanded) them to stay over for the duration of the rest of the tournament, claiming it was so he could keep a watchful eye on them and their diets. Ryou refused to think anything of it when he and his damaged ankle were given special treatment and care by the employees of the manor.

* * *

 

A soft, but cold touch on Ryou’s ankle woke him in the dead of the night. He jerked awake, searching for the switch to the night light beside him. It was pitch black (sue him for wanting to sleep peacefully) and he couldn’t see a damn thing because whoever had entered the room had closed the door behind him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” murmured a very familiar voice from somewhere around his feet. “I just wished to check on your injury myself, lest we have to forfeit your match the day after tomorrow.”

Ryou shivered at the feeling of Atobe’s cold fingers and hot breath on his skin. Atobe felt Ryou shivering. His fingers tightened briefly around Ryou’s ankle — Ryou inhaled sharply, but not from the pain — and then left it completely.

“I apologise,” Atobe said, and Ryou jumped, for the voice was now next to his ear. “I couldn’t stay away, even though I know you lack any feelings for me.”

Ryou relaxed. Ahh. This was a dream. The real Atobe would kill himself with a real sword before saying such soppy, just-on-the-other-side-of-stalkery things.

He sighed and grabbed whatever of Atobe’s body his hands landed on and pulled him on top of himself in an instant. “Of course I love you, I’ve loved you since the day I met you. Shut up and kiss me, idiot,” he said lazily, entangling their legs. It was Atobe’s turn to inhale.

Ryou’s bed emanated intensely sexual gasps and soft moans and tactile sounds and odd-smelling fluids for the rest of the night, and if Ryou failed to realise that Choutarou, on his own bed just five metres away, was awake and near-nauseated and yet uncomfortably aroused the entire time, well, Ryou wasn’t going to let that ruin his weird wet dream.

* * *

 

Ryou woke to a cold bed. There was only his indent in the mattress and no warmth next to him, confirming his suspicions as to the reality of the events of last night. Choutarou didn’t budge from his bed, snoring obscenely loudly when Ryou shook him. Seemed like he was taking a day off.

His ankle, like the doctor had promised it would be, was perfectly fine. He walked into the dining hall for breakfast, expecting Atobe to studiously avoid any acknowledgement of Ryou’s presence. Just to torture himself after last night’s lovely dream, he went and sat right next to Atobe, helping himself to some of everything laid out on the table in front of him. Made small conversation with the rest of the team (sans Choutarou). Did nothing the entire day, commanded by Atobe by proxy (Michael the butler) to stay put. Personal physiotherapist checked him out that evening and declared him officially fit to play.

The team met for a final team huddle before heading off to sleep in Ryou’s room. It was indeed the last they would have before they all graduated and headed off to different futures and forgot about tennis. Ryou, sitting at the back of the room, felt a little sad. Then he thought of what he’d done to Atobe, and he felt much sadder.

Everyone was quiet until Wakashi piped up, “This is fun. I’ll miss these silences the most.” There was a titter of laughter that went around, tinged with wistfulness. Atobe looked at the floor, thoughtful. Yuushi sighed, standing up.

“I know Atobe’s at a loss for words right now, for the first time in his life, so I’ll step up to the plate. Regardless of whether or not we win against Seishun Gakuen tomorrow, this is very possibly the best team I could have ever been a part of, and I’m honoured to have been your vice-captain until the very end. Fuck all of you and I’m glad to be rid of you soon.”

There was a smatter of applause from the seniors. Atobe smirked slightly as he stood up next. Ryou’s heart started its annoying loud-beating thing. He clenched his fists.

“I,” Atobe began, “as your captain for six years, am immensely proud of every single one of you, for you have shown nothing but true perseverance and loyalty to this team, leaving _no stone unturned_ to ensure a safe journey to this point.”

So it was going to be that kind of speech. No one missed the double meaning. Ryou’s face burned with shame. He hadn’t thought Atobe would pick this moment, of all possible moments, to remind Ryou of how badly he had fucked with his captain’s heart.

“After tomorrow, we shall never have another practice session, another round of laps… or indeed the locker room banter bouts that gave us all the horrifying revelations of Yuushi and Gakuto’s filthy sexual encounters in the communal showers. After tomorrow, we might start seeing each other less frequently than we have been used to these past few years, but I assure you my faith and trust in all of you will remain unshaken for many years to come, regardless of the result of tomorrow’s matches.”

The tears in Ryou’s eyes spilled over. He ducked his head to hide them, but it was too late. Atobe’s blazing eyes had landed on him. Ryou covered his face with his hands.

“There is one more thing I must deal with before I sit back and let my team members speak,” he continued ruthlessly. With a sinking feeling, Ryou knew what he was going to talk about. “I once again apologise for my substandard behaviour in the months leading to this momentous night. None of you deserved it. I was an arse, and I recognise that you had to take drastic measures to contain the fallout, regardless of how selfish and _heartless_ those measures were.”

Atobe didn’t take his eyes off Ryou. So he was condemning just Ryou. Well. Good. Wow. Yuushi and Gakuto made to speak, possibly to shoulder some of the blame, but Atobe quelled both of them with a look.

The last of Atobe’s little speech was addressed directly to Ryou.

“I hope you will be present at my engagement ceremony, which will be taking place in April. I shall send out the formal invitations at a later date. My future wife would love to meet you, and I would love to introduce you to the woman I plan to love with all my heart for the rest of my life.”

Ryou’s heart broke. His tears dried up and he clenched his fists again.

“I’ll see you there,” he said hoarsely, looking Atobe full in the eye. Atobe broke eye contact, looking to Kabaji. Always Kabaji.

Wakashi couldn’t find a joke to make. Choutarou looked deeply troubled and guilty. Kabaji failed to meet anyone’s eyes, and, really, was there even a point to winning tomorrow anymore?

No one spoke a word as they all went to bed, wondering if, despite all their best efforts to prevent it, the team had broken anyway.

* * *

 

They won Nationals.

Ryou cried openly on the court. Fuck being macho, fuck being strong, fuck this, fuck everything, fuck his stupid fucking team for forcing him into this, fuck Atobe for falling in love with him, fuck the universe for making him fall in love with Atobe, fuck Atobe’s mom for wanting grandchildren.

Everyone pretended Ryou’s anguished sobs were because of the championship win. Atobe looked sorry, looked like he wanted to talk to Ryou, but Ryou seemed ready to punch him when he made to go over, so he halted in his tracks.

No one saw Ryou again at school from the day after.

* * *

 

Ryou opened his eyes, blinded by the glare of the sunlight. No longer did his pesky hair annoy him, because he had cut it off the night before. Or — he had _had_ it cut off. So it was stylish as well as short now. No point to be proven to anyone. No high school to enforce any rules.

Today was the engagement ceremony he’d avoided thinking about for weeks on weeks. Welp.

Ryou’s dress suit hung in the closet, ready for him.

After taking his time getting ready, peeling bandages off his face and making sure his hair looked better than it would normally, he flagged down a taxi, unwilling to risk sullying the suit.

The location was somewhere away from Tokyo proper — Atobe had more than one mansion, apparently; he also had a garden resort overlooking the sea, which was where the ceremony was. The taxi would cost Shishido bucketloads of money, but, what the fuck did it matter. He was probably never going to see Atobe again after that day, because let’s be real, he would fuck himself with a cactus before going to the actual wedding.

An hour later, he was deposited onto the road, at the entrance to the resort, along with at least twenty other people arriving at the same time. Even the path to the actual fucking building was better than any he’d ever see in his life, he thought, looking at the gleaming, perfect stones, and at all the people around him, murmuring about something or other. Ryou handed his invitation card to the greeter sunnily waiting at the huge doors with his own entourage of maids and menservants, and was let in with the wave of a hand.

The hall was large, and led to many different destinations. Helpful commissionaires handed him a programme and took him to the garden, and an usher then showed him to his seat, beside the aisle right next to the rest of his team, whom he hadn’t seen since the day of the Nationals. Nearly all of them did a double take at his short hair, but none save for Choutarou dared to speak to him.

“You look, um, dashing,” Choutarou said meekly. Apologetic. Ryou didn’t know whether to be angry or sad. He’d gone along with the charade of his own volition, of course, though under the severe threat of the very thing he’d done to himself.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing him a brief smile. Ryou simply could not smile genuinely that day. Someone he’d gone and fallen in love with was promising himself to someone else that day, and would you smile if that happened? No, you fucking wouldn’t.

“The ceremony’s going to start soon,” Choutarou continued, clearly more at ease once Ryou didn’t sock him on sight, “and I’ve heard Captain looks more handsome today than he’s ever done.”

Ryou might have socked him then, but restrained himself.

“Brilliant,” he said shortly. “What else?”

“Erm, he’s never met his bride before today.”

“How do you even know that?”

“I… we kept in touch with Captain after… Nationals.” There was a subtle rebuke in there, because Ryou hadn’t bothered to do the same. Oh, hypocrite.

Ryou hummed. Then said, “You don’t need to tiptoe around me, by the way. I’m not going to burst into tears like a baby if you talk about his engagement.”

Choutarou had the decency to look ashamed. “I… we’re really sorry,” he said, on behalf of everyone else sitting behind the two of them that couldn’t meet Ryou’s eyes, “it was really selfish to do that and we hurt both of you really badly.”

“It’s all right, it worked out in the end.”

“Did it?”

Ryou didn’t answer, because lilting music had started up then, and Atobe and his fiancée-to-be, along with their parents, had emerged into the garden behind all of them.

A sigh escaped Ryou’s mouth. Choutarou had been right. Forget the girl beside him, Atobe was positively radiant. He was smiling gently, the girl’s hand in his own, and his hair wasn’t his usual stupid side-fans, it was properly styled and magnificent. He was wearing a simple pinstriped dinner jacket, the sight of Atobe in which took Ryou’s breath away. His heart, in pieces before, was glass dust now.

On the way to the stage, Atobe’s gaze fell on at his team; and, as these things are bound to happen, his eyes met Ryou’s. Ryou fully expected his face to morph into cold indifference and turn away from Ryou, but Atobe only smiled wider, seemingly having forgiven Ryou the whole debacle. Ryou blinked away the sudden tears in his eyes, looking away.

The music died down as they stepped onto the low stage. Ryou finally looked at the girl.

She was dazzling in her own way, in an outfit as simple as Atobe’s, a light beige gown. Her hands in Atobe’s, she demurely refused to turn her head and look at any of the people sitting on both sides of the aisle, including now her parents. She only had eyes for Atobe, and Atobe… only had eyes for Ryou. Uh. What.

“Hello, and welcome,” someone, probably the officiator, said from one side of the stage. “Thank you for coming to…” and Ryou tuned out, letting instead his eyes roam over Atobe, trying desperately to memorise every aspect of him, from his stupid-but-not-today hair to his elegant fingers to his probably-weird toes in those gleaming leather shoes, from the smile on his face to the love awash in his eyes… the eyes that kept flitting to Ryou. Erm. Why.

The officiator must have finished some romantic speech about the type of love that can be found even amongst strangers, and was finally getting to the point. “With these rings,” he said tremulously, holding up two open velvet boxes, “you may now proceed to promise each other your hand in marriage, unless someone present here today voices an objection to your betrothal.” Wait, were you even supposed to say shit like that at engagement ceremonies? Ryou snorted lightly.

Atobe took one box. The girl took the other. Both took the rings out of the boxes (Ryou couldn’t see what type they were), and looked into each other’s eyes. They stood still.

A few minutes passed.

There was a cough from the audience.

“Well, get on with it,” the officiator nudged. Atobe resolutely didn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he said to the horizon point behind the girl.

Ryou got a hard poke on the back of his head.

“Ow, what the fuck, Yuushi!”

The spectators chuckled uncomfortably, unsure of the direction the proceedings had taken. The parents on both sides of the aisle looked thunderous.

“Aren’t you going to object?” Atobe asked again, to the far waves crashing against the distant shore.

The girl slowly began to smile. Ryou got another poke on the back of his head, Jirou this time, and for his trouble, he promptly turned and slapped him right back with the programme in his hand.

Atobe sighed.

“Ryou,” he said, finally turning to him. “Won’t you object?”

Ryou went rigid. He sank low in his seat, though his heart leapt into his throat, thudding in his ears, sweat fresh on his palms.

“No,” he called. “Carry on, thanks.”

A huff of impatience carried across the audience, and then Atobe was standing right next to him. Ryou rose on instinct to face him.

“The team told me everything. _Everything_ ,” Keigo said gently. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come today, and that I would have to go along with this farce before breaking it all off to find you.”

A tremor went through the spectators at the f-word. Keigo’s parents looked like they’d been set on fire.

The girl, still on the stage behind him, started laughing, far happier than a jilted bride-to-be had the right to be. Her parents looked equally ablaze.

“I do love you,” Ryou began, but then Keigo kissed him.

Ryou lost himself in it for a while until a very humiliated-looking Atobe patriarch cleared his throat.

“Won’t you be mine?” Keigo asked, breaking the kiss but placing a hand on Ryou’s back.

“I’m not going to say any sappy dialogues for anyone’s benefit, not even yours,” Ryou snapped, though tear tracks ran clear down his cheeks.

“I was already yours, my darling Keigo,” supplied someone from the (erstwhile alive, Ryou promised himself) Hyōtei team lapping up the scene ongoing in front of them.

Keigo smiled, noting Ryou’s silence. “Will you accept my deepest apologies for my cruel behaviour towards you? I am so sorry.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my lord,” called someone else from the audience.

“We’re not in 1895!” Ryou hollered, face hot. But again, he didn’t say anything to the contrary.

The mirthful girl on the stage yelled back, “Thank you so much, Atobe! I had better see you two married in the future, don’t let me down!”

Keigo laughed — what a charming, lovely sound that Ryou, heartsick no more, had wretchedly missed for months and months — and kissed Ryou again, and it was every bit the spectacle that people paid to watch on the silver screen.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what'd you think of my first foray into writing in a while? Too many adverbs and commas? Shishido too sappy? Any glaring typos? I know the writing style was all over the place. Sorry. Please leave a comment if you have the time!


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